


In Flames

by philaetos



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Simon dies, i hurt myself writing this it was a terrible idea, i just bullshitted the rest, lots of feelings and lots of crying, malcolm is actually trying to be a good dad, sorry - Freeform, the main idea was to get malcolm and baz to talk because they both lost their significant other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:55:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philaetos/pseuds/philaetos
Summary: “I’d wake up every morning and thing ‘This will end in flames”And it did.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	In Flames

**Baz**

I always knew it.

There was no other way.

I was so sure of it, and yet, as it happens, I can’t believe it.

Flames.

Everywhere. 

He wasn’t supposed to…

It should have been  _ me _ .

I always thought it’d be me.

It’d make sense. 

_ ‘Baz, you’re flammable.’ _

But so are you, Simon Snow.

So are you. 

…

The scene in front of me is an explosion of yellow, orange,  _ tawny _ . It’s captivating, like a lot of terrible things tend to be. It’s beauty and horror. It’s chaos and calm. It’s life and death.

Death.

_ His  _ death

…

Arms wrap around my middle before I can run into the fire, run to him, like he ran to me all those years ago, in a burning forest.

I want to fight those arms but they’re strong and I’m so weak so all I can do is watch my worst nightmare come alive as he falls dead. 

I don’t know if the cry I hear comes from me or from the person holding me, and I don’t care. 

How could I care, when I know for sure that it doesn’t come from him.

…

**Mitali**

Penelope’s scream stops me in my tracks more than the sight I’m subjected to. 

Never in my life have I heard someone sound so hurt, so utterly broken. 

She’s clinging to Basilton, her face buried in between his collarbones, the both of them fallen to their knees. The lights of the fire in front of them makes shadow dance on the boy’s face, a face frozen in an expression of sheer agony. 

The agony of a young man who just lost the person he loves.

My own heart aches. Simon has become, in the last years, a constant in Penelope’s life, and by extension, in mine. He’s a sweet child, easy to love. But a child nonetheless. They all are. Not by law, but they are. They’re so young still.  _ Too _ young. And they’d already fought enough. I should have never asked them to come here, to risk their life once again, when they’d done it so many times already.

But there’s no time for regrets.

They’re children, and they need someone to take care of them, to wipe the sorrow off their cheeks.

…

**Baz**

A hand on my shoulder. A voice, that I’m sure I know but can’t recognize “Let’s take you home.”

Home?

I no longer have a home.

…

I don’t know how it happened, but I’m standing somewhere that isn’t Watford with Mitali Bunce’s arm around my shoulders. I feel a bit more aware of my surroundings than I did  _ back there _ , and I think it’s because Dr Bunce cast a spell on me. My whole body is itching slightly, like it’s covered in mosquito bites ; and this happens to be the effect her magic has on me.

However it’s only when the door open on Father and Daphne that I start to understand where I am.

So that’s what the voice -Dr Bunce’s, I presume- meant when it said “home”. Hampshire. 

This place never felt like home. My room at the top of Mummers did. Snow’s and Bunce’s flat did.

Anywhere where Simon was with me did.

“Basilton?” Father said, a puzzled look on his face. “Mitali? What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

I don’t even bother trying to answer. I’m not sure I can speak. 

Dr Bunce does the speaking for me. “Something happened, while the children were helping me at Watford. Simon… Simon Snow died.”

She barely whispers the last word, but it echoes in my head as if she’d shouted it.

Died. Died. Died. Died. Died.

I think I hear a gasp, and someone swear, but all I’m sure of is that I hear this word. Died. 

Simon Snow died.

Simon. Snow. Died. 

I understand those words, individually. I know what they mean. But together, they don’t make any sense. It sounds like English, I know it’s English, but it could just as well be bloody Chinese.

The arm around my shoulders change, it’s slimmer, more fragile.

Daphne. 

“Basilton? Basil are you with me?”

I open my mouth but no words come out, just a sound, an ugly one. Like a sob and a whine at the same time. 

It must be answer enough for Daphne because she helps me walk -drags me- inside the manor -she’s stronger than she looks, that woman- after saying a quick “Thank you Mitali” to Dr Bunce. 

Father is nowhere to be seen, but I can hear his voice faintly. He must have stayed behind with Dr Bunce. 

“Basil, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to take you to your room, okay? You’ll have some sleep, and then… then we’ll see. You need to rest.”

I want to argue but my eyelids started closing the moment she said the word “sleep”.

…

**Malcolm**

“Crowley Fiona, answer,” I mutter, waiting for her to pick up the phone. She should know that if I’m calling her, it’s for something important. The last time I called her was probably years ago.

“Dear ex-brother-in-law what can I do for you so early in the morning.”

It’s 2 in the afternoon. Merlin give me the strength to deal with her.

“It’s about Basilton.” I can almost see her lose her cocky smile. “Mitali Bunce drove him here from Watford. Alone.”

“What do you mean, alone? Since when does the Chosen One not follow Baz everywhere?”

“Since he died.”

There’s a long silence as Fiona processes the words. None of us may particularly love Simon Snow, he remains -or remained, I suppose- a good person, and someone Basilton cares deeply for. 

“Holy fuck. When did that happen? How’s Baz taking it?”

“This morning. Not well, as I’m sure you could have guessed. Daphne is going to spell him to sleep, and I think it would be good if you could be here when he wakes up. He loves you and trusts you most of all of us.”

“Merlin, Malcolm I’m in Romania right now.”

Of course she is. Of course she has to be away from the country at this very moment. 

“Take a plane! Your nephew needs you.”

“I’m going to, you bastard! Shouldn’t you be with Baz instead of yelling at me anyway? Try being a bloody decent father for once Malcolm!”

I hung up on her. The last thing I need is a lecture from Fiona. But as much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. I should be by my son’s side. 

So that’s exactly where I’m going to go. 

When I walk into Basilton’s room, I see that Daphne has made him lie down under the covers and tucked him to bed like she does with the girls. It’s endearing. 

Basilton is sleeping, and there’s not a worried line on his forehead. Daphne must have put a lot of strength in her spell to grant him not only sleep, but a peaceful one. When she sees me, she rises from where she was sitting on the edge of Basilton’s bed and comes up to me. She reached out with her hand and I take it in between mines, squeezing it as she rests her head against my shoulder. There’s so much pain in her eyes, you’d believe she’s the one who lost the person she loves. “Did Mitali tell you how it happened?” she asks me.

“She mentioned a fire. Apparently Basilton saw everything” 

She gasps and I can feel her shiver against me. When I lower my eyes I see that hers have widened. One of my hands lets go of hers to rest on her shoulder. “This poor child,” Daphne whispers. 

I’m not sure if she’s talking about Basilton or Snow. Possibly both. Either way, I nod. “It’s truly horrific.”

“How do you think Basil will react once he wakes up?” she asks, looking up at me. Her eyes meet mine and I can read in them the words she doesn’t want to pronounce. 

“There’s no greater grief than to lose someone you gave your heart to,” I answer, my voice quivering.

“But one can live with grief, right?” she says, her eyes flickering between Basilton and I. 

“I do hope so…”

And I do.

But grief is a complicated thing and there’s no way to know exactly how Basilton will handle his. All we can do is help. 

That’s what I tell Daphne. 

“You’re right,” she hums. “I’m going to take the girls at my parents’ for the night, I think it’s better if they don’t try to come and bother him. Mordelia will be excited if she knows Basil is home but I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate having her pestering him.”

She’s so considerate. I would have never thought of that. 

“That’s a great idea, thank you.” I kiss the top of her head before she unwraps herself from me. “Shall I send you a message when he wakes up?”

“Please. With the spell I used, he should be out for a couple of hours, but magic is tricky. And call me tonight. Only if you can find the time, though. Basil is going to need you.”

I don’t think so, but it’s a pleasant thing to believe ; that my son would need me while he goes through something like this. I have monumentally failed Basilton and ruined whatever father-and-son relationship we could have had for years, I’m not sure it’s something I can repair now. 

But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and be here for him.

…

I headed back downstairs to make some calls -tell Vera not to come in the following days, contact the Coven to warn them of Simon Snow’s death because I don’t think Mitali has done it, having her grieving daughter to deal with, make sure Fiona is on her way to the nearest airport- while Daphne got the girls ready to go, but once they left I returned to Basilton’s room. He was still sleeping, seeming as calm as before, thank Merlin. The last thing he needs is to be plagued by nightmares. I approach him until I’m sitting on the edge of his bed, very much like Daphne was not so long ago. 

His cheeks are tear-streaked -which is not surprising- and, and it’s the detail that bothers me, hollower than the last time I saw him, a few months ago. Has he not been eating well recently?

I’ll have to pay attention to that. And to his…  _ feeding _ . He probably won’t feel like eating much of  _ anything _ , with what he’s going through but he’ll have to. 

He can’t let the pain eat away at him. 

…

**Baz**

When I wake up everything feels clearer and it’s awful because the reality of things hits me the moment I gain consciousness. 

Simon Snow is dead. Simon Snow burnt in front of me and all I could do was watch.

The information feels like a rock on my stomach and tears that want to be shed burn my eyes.

“Basilton, you’re awake.”

My father’s voice startles me. 

…

**Malcolm**

He looks so helpless. 

I’ve never seen such distress in his eyes, not even when he was a little child and he asked me when Mummy would come back. It’s heartbreaking. 

I want to do something, to touch him, but I don’t know if he’ll allow me. 

I try anyway. I reach out, slowly, as if he were a frightened animal, and I touch his cheek. I feel him freeze under my palm and it’s not long before something wet touches my fingers. 

“He’s gone,” he chokes out, and he sounds so broken, so absolutely wrecked. 

“I know.”

I don’t know what the adequate answer is. I’ve been on the other side of this situation, and none of the words anyone could have told me would have felt right. The only voice I wanted to hear was hers.

“He’s gone, he’s really gone, he’s never coming back.”

His voice is shaking, almost as much as his shoulders. 

I have the sudden and irrepressible urge to hold him in my arms. 

So I do.

…

**Baz**

It’s strange. Father hasn’t hugged me since I was five.

…

**Malcolm**

His forehead pressed in the crook of my neck, he lets go completely. It’s like the dam that held back all of his emotions for so long finally broke, and now there’s just this overwhelming wave of hurt and sorrow. 

He doesn’t choke back his sobs, nor his tears. He grips my clothes and his entire body is trembling as he murmurs a litany of “he’s gone” in between his sobs. 

I rub circles on his back a bit clumsily, and I tell him a bunch of words, absolute nonsense, just to keep him with him, to make sure he has something to anchor him to reality and he doesn’t get lost in the pain. 

I let him cry as long as he needs, letting out all those feelings, until his throat is sore, his eyes burn from crying, and he can finally hold himself up without needing my body to support his weight.

Few sights are as heart wrenching as my son looking so very destroyed. 

In a last rush of boldness, I lean down to kiss his forehead. It’s a gesture I’ve never had for him, and he probably thinks I’m turning mad, but I don’t care. At this very moment, it feels like the right thing to do. “I know it’s the last thing you want to hear right now, but you’ll be okay, son,” I say against his forehead.

The look he gives me when I move back makes my heart clench. His eyes are so empty. “Will I, really?” 

His voice is hoarse. Broken. 

So broken.

…

**Baz**

“With time,” he answers and he sounds sincere.

I’m not sure I believe him. 

I’m not sure anything could ever fill the void in my chest where my heart once was. 

I’m not sure anything could ever make me be  _ okay. _

Simon Snow is dead. How could anything be okay ever again. 

“How can you know?” 

“Because I’ve been there.” There’s a bittersweet tone to his voice and it takes me a second to understand.

Oh. 

Of course.

I feel tears coming back, and I don’t know exactly if they’re here because I’m thinking about my mother or about Simon.

“How did you do it? How did you overcome it?”

It seems insurmountable.

“Your devil of an aunt yelled at me constantly for months until I got out of bed and got my life together. She’s going to do the same thing with you, if you’re not careful.”

I know he’s trying to make me smile, and I’m grateful that he is, but I don’t think I’m physically able to smile anymore.

Not when the reason for all of my smiles is gone. 

“That’s not what I mean. How did you… I mean… Daphne… How did you stop loving Mum?”

Nothing I say makes sense but Father seems to understand nonetheless. He gives me a sad smile. “I didn’t. I still love your mother, Basilton. Just differently. I don’t think I could ever stop loving her. I don’t want to. You don’t need to stop loving Simon to move on.”

Move on.

As if I could move on from Simon Snow. He’s the sun and I’m the earth, constantly rotating around him. Without him, there’s no more light, no more warmth. None of the things that make life worth living.

My thoughts must be written on my face because Father says “I know that ‘moving on’ sounds like a foolish, impossible idea. ‘Moving on’ isn’t exactly what I mean, I should have chosen my words more carefully. What I mean, Baz.” Crowley I think it’s the first time he ever called me Baz. “is that someday, you’ll be able to go one with your life, even without him in it. He’ll still be here, in your heart, you’ll still miss him, but his absence will no longer be a painful memory you carry as a burden, as a reminder of what you’ve lost. It’ll be something you hold dear, a treasured memento of the good things. You probably won’t feel that way anytime soon. This is the kind of thing that takes time. But you will. I promise you, if you don’t give up, you will.”

I take a moment to think about his words. I hope they’re true. I hope I won’t always feel this atrocious pain when I think about Simon.

He was the best thing in my life, I don’t want him to be associated to so much suffering, but losing him feels like suffocating ; it feels like it’s going to hurt, and hurt, and hurt, until it stops because it hurt too much and I couldn’t handle it. 

“Will it ever stop hurting?” 

Please say yes. Please say it will. I can’t bear it if it always hurts like that. 

My father looks at me, his eyes shining with what can only be tears. He squeezes my knee gently as he answers. “Not really. But it hurts less and less and less until it’s bearable. It’s a pain you learn to live with, because there’s no other choice.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! feedback is always appreciated!


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